


there is a house in new orleans

by callunavulgari



Series: Dark Month Collection [39]
Category: American Horror Story, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character Death, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, M/M, Necromancy, Rape Aftermath, Revenge, Temporary Character Death, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought all witches were girls?” the blonde one asks, stammering a little, like she doesn’t want to offend him. He shrugs, tucking the cigarette between his teeth. One of the other girls—the dark-haired one, leans forward and lights it with the tips of her fingers. He quirks a little grin at her and takes a drag—inhale, exhale, sigh. “Apparently not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is a house in new orleans

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Month, Day 14. Something else was originally scheduled for this day, but watching the Coven season premiere last week made me have a shit ton of feels so Roxas-centric fusions happened instead. Also, if you aren't watching Coven, you should be, because the first episode alone is better than either of the last two seasons. (If you do watch it though, seriously, beware the scene with the gang rape because it's graphic and caught me totally by surprise, also almost made me puke. Which is why this fic barely mentioned it.)

“I thought all witches were girls?” the blonde one asks, stammering a little, like she doesn’t want to offend him.  
  
He shrugs, tucking the cigarette between his teeth. One of the other girls—the dark-haired one, leans forward and lights it with the tips of her fingers. He quirks a little grin at her and takes a drag—inhale, exhale, sigh.  
  
“Apparently not,” he says, leaning back into the uncomfortable wicker chair that’s probably from the eighteen hundreds.  
  
They titter at him, these thin, girlish sounds—like birds.  
  
.  
  
“I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” the clairvoyant one—Kairi, the redhead—says.  
  
He snorts, thinking of Hayner’s little grin as Roxas lead him into his mom’s house, shushing him when he laughed too loudly even though they were alone. Hayner’s eyelashes had fluttered against Roxas’ cheeks, gasping as he pushed inside, and yeah, it had hurt, but whatever. He’d waited, patiently, for Roxas to give the okay before he started moving.  
  
Hayner was his best friend, and now he was dead because they decided they might as well lose their virginity to each other.  
  
“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” he sighs, and the words taste like ashes in his throat.  
  
.  
  
“There’s a party tonight,” Xion—the dark-haired one—says, shyly. “I want to go, but I don’t feel comfortable going alone.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow at her, taps the end of his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray.  
  
“Sure,” he finally breathes, smoke hissing between his teeth. “Why not.”  
  
.  
  
He’d grown up in a small town where everyone knew each other’s names. The old cat lady down the street babysat for him when he was young—so did the teacher the next street over and the butcher’s wife on the other side of the neighborhood. People waved at him as he skateboarded down the street, Hayner at his side, little old ladies he’d known since he was born asking if he could maybe get their cat down from their tree, or find their lost trinket, or put up signs advertising yard sales in hot pink comic sans.  
  
He’d known Hayner since he was three, and Pence since he was in diapers.  
  
He remembers playing in sandboxes with Hayner and Pence, burying their cars there and digging them up later. It was a small town, so when Hayner had found out that Roxas liked boys, he’d been silent on the matter for three weeks before he’d knocked on Roxas’ door, shuffling back and forth on his sneaker-clad feet, and apologized sheepishly.  
  
“I’m not gonna lie, man, I dig chicks all the way, but—”  
  
And that simple word, that ‘but’, had lead to them making out in library stacks, giving each other handjobs in empty classrooms, and eventually, Roxas confessing, “Hey, so… I think I want you to pop my cherry.”  
  
“What, like your ass cherry?” Hayner had laughed.  
  
Roxas punched him, hissing like an irate cat. “Yes, dude, if you wanna put it that way. I want you to stuff your beef into my taco. I want you to bang me like a bass drum. I want you to—”  
  
Then Hayner had slapped a hand over his mouth, laughing so hard his eyes were streaming a little, and yelped when Roxas licked his palm.  
  
He came from a small town, so everyone found out when Hayner ended up dead with his dick out in Roxas’ bed.  
  
“It’s not your fault, sweetie, it’s ours,” his mother had said before sending him off to a school for fucking witches in New Orleans.  
  
Whatever. Fuck ‘em.  
  
.  
  
The party isn’t what he’d have expected. He’s seen movies about stupid frat parties—neon lights, dubstep, copious quantities of alcohol, but he’d never really believed that it was actually like that. The party is _exactly_ like that and crowded enough that he loses Xion at the door.  
  
He looks for her in between meandering through the rooms, rubbing elbows with people too trashed to stand, and eventually comes to a stop in front of an enormous sheet of ice. He thinks it’s ice anyway, but there are initials chiseled into the top of it, so maybe it’s some kind of glass.  
  
There’s a face in the ice, and when he blinks, it doesn’t go away. Just a faintly blurry face staring back at him from the other side of the table.  
  
He smiles, a little, and walks away.  
  
.  
  
“I’m Axel,” the dude says, grinning at him. He’s tall and pale, bright red hair, green eyes, shitty tattoos. “You looked like you needed a drink.”  
  
“Is that your super power?” Roxas asks, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “To know when people are dehydrated?”  
  
“One of them,” Axel laughs, and he’s wearing one of those stupid frat boy jackets, but he’s cute, and well, Roxas has never had anyone interested in him before—not really. With him and Hayner it was less mutual attraction and more that they were both there and horny teenagers.  
  
“My name’s Roxas,” he murmurs, still smiling.  
  
.  
  
He smiles all the way up until it’s not funny anymore, until the pull of attraction in his belly is almost making him sick.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “You’re nice and I like you, but this isn’t going to work out.”  
  
.  
  
He finds Xion shivering and pale on a bed upstairs, thighs spread tellingly, blinking like she doesn’t know what’s going on.  
  
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck!”  
  
Axel’s already tearing after the guys, but Roxas goes after them too, and makes it outside just in time to see the bus go tearing out of the lot.  
  
“Axel!” he shouts, jogging to try to keep up with the bus. He might be a witch, but he doesn’t have a broom. He loses them.  
  
He blinks, slowly, and when he turns to the side, Xion’s staggering up to him, fire in her eyes and—literally—in her hands.  
  
“No!” he gasps, but she’s already moving.  
  
He watches, sick, as the bus flips—once, twice, before coming to a standstill and bursting into flames.  
  
.  
  
“Flipping a bus isn’t easy,” the strange woman tells them the next morning, interrupting Roxas. Her hair’s shiny black, her skin tinted olive, and she’s wearing six inch stiletto heels. She smirks and puts her cigarette out against a dinner plate.  
  
“We’re going on a field trip,” she says, her expression pure, perfect wickedness. “Wear something black.”  
  
.  
  
He’s reminded of Madeline, following behind the strange woman—Maleficent, she’d introduced herself as—in their matching black outfits, all lined up in a row. _They left the house at half past nine, in rain - or shine. Such good little girls in two straight lines, except the smallest, Madeline._  
  
He remembers his mother’s fingers against the pages, her voice reading to him softly before he went to bed.  
  
He feels sick. His mother got rid of him at the first sign of stress—as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have a mother anymore.  
  
.  
  
He sneaks off after the tour of the creepy old torture mansion.  
  
The hospital smells of sick, and has remarkably shitty security, because it’s easy to sneak up to the rooms housing the two survivors of the bus crash.  
  
Neither of them are Axel, and his lungs constrict, a sob welling up in his throat. One of them’s the asshole with the camera though, the douchebag who’d gone sprinting past him, still zipping up his fly, Axel close behind.  
  
“It should have been you,” he hisses blankly.  
  
He blinks at the machine by the asshole’s bedside, and thinks of Hayner bleeding out of his eye sockets, nose, mouth—Hayner shaking beneath him as Roxas screamed for help.  
  
He can end this guy’s life, right here, right now, and it’s as easy as closing the door.  
  
.  
  
It hurts, sinking down onto the asshole’s dick with just hastily applied spit to ease the way. He bites his lip, grits his teeth against the pain, and rolls his hips.  
  
It’s worth it to hear the guy flatline— _justice_.  
  
.  
  
“We take the _best_ boy parts,” Larxene—the newest addition—smirks, eyes alight with mad fire. “And we make the _perfect_ boyfriend.”  
  
The morgue smells like formaldehyde, like sickly sweet rotting flesh, and antibacterial soap. Axel’s corpse is cold, eyes blank and unseeing.  
  
Roxas barely makes it to the trashcan before retching.  
  
.  
  
They stitch him back together and then Roxas breathes him back to life.  
  
  



End file.
